It has to be. My left pocket has my cell in it already. I decide to tuck Angela’s phone safely next to Jamal’s burner in the secret compartment of my purse.

After ten minutes of silence, I push the door out slowly, then step outside.

“Hey!” a man’s voice yells. “Over there!”

I curse and take off running past the packing building, thrashing my arms around so the grass moves out of my way. Heart in my throat, I press on, hoping if I go around the building, I’ll be able to find the path. Make my way to the car and escape.

A voice yells, “Stop!”

I keep running until their words click together in my brain.

“Police! Stop! Or I’ll shoot.”

My chest screams out. Pounding. I don’t trust what’ll happen if I stop.

My instincts say to flee.

My brain says to stop.

I throw my hands up and turn, but I shut my eyes. I don’t want to see it happen.

I don’t move. I can’t move.

The sickly fear of death snakes up through my body.

They yell again, and I can’t help but force my eyes open.

One white officer keeps his weapon on me as he walks slowly toward me. My muscles tense, trying not to move and holding back from flinching. Even if the police leave me unharmed, a search would get rid of my only way of communicating with Jamal and give them Angela’s phone before I can take a look. Another tall and thin officer with silver hair follows behind the first, his face much younger than his hair indicates. His badge reads DAVIS CLYDE. He puts his hand on the other officer’s shoulder, and they exchange fierce whispers.

“Wait!” a woman’s voice cries out to the officers. “Wait. She’s with me. She called me.”

Beverly passes them, wearing her on-duty cop uniform. She steps between their guns and me. Wrapping one arm around me, she lets out a painful exhale. “She’s with me.”

I grab on to her tight, so she doesn’t let go. I’m too afraid to speak. To move.

“That’s the suspect’s sister.” The officer with the gun on me points with his free hand. “What are you doing at the scene of a crime?”

“Put the gun away,” Officer Clyde says to the other officer.

“Tell them what you’re doing here, Tracy,” Beverly says with wide eyes.

“I came by the dock. I had to see for myself because my brother wouldn’t do what you think he did.”

“She called to ask if this is still a crime scene.” Beverly hands over her phone to show the texts. “I didn’t want her walking around here by herself. I came to check on her. See.”

“Take a look, Clyde,” the other officer says.

Officer Clyde reviews Beverly’s phone, then asks for mine.